


mapping the crossroads

by vannral



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-14 15:54:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18055493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vannral/pseuds/vannral
Summary: Shivers crawl on Fjord’s spine, up to the nape of his neck for reasons he can’t explain.The man seems human, a warm, real human being, but there’s something... not quite off, not quite wrong, but something in him crackles and sends white-hot embers in the air, just barely noticeable.The Mighty Nein meet an old man, and suddenly it's so much worse and more heartbreaking than they could have ever imagined.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Helloo! I'm back with a shorter story this time and I hope you'll enjoy this one! I've planned ahead a little, we'll see how we will get to the end! <3

Fjord should have known.

The air around Dunrock Mountains hangs heavy, full of ice and teeth, and it hurts to breathe. It hurts to be alive out here. The lungs rattle and creak with each inhale, he can’t remember what actual warmth felt like.

Fjord thinks this might be the fuckin’ worst thing he can think of at the moment.

It’s just a bleak wasteland of snow, smoke, dead things and dwarven ruins.

And Fjord can’t feel his goddamn toes. Ain’t that just fantastic.

Which is why he’s out here, by himself, gathering bark and sticks wherever he can. One of Caleb’s magical orbs flicker around him and light the nearby snow drifts eerie blue.

He doesn’t know exactly why Caleb’s decided to do that - he _can_ see in the dark, thanks, especially when Caleb’s been so tired, nearing the brink of delirium, but... Fjord appreciates the gesture, nonetheless, however small.

(something warm and sweet blossoms in his chest, and flushing, he decides not to think about it. not yet, anyway. definitely not, nope.)

He’s still grumbling a bit when the back of his neck prickles, and an all-too familiar sensation of _‘i’m-being-watched’_ digs under his skin.

Slowly Fjord looks up and spots a robed figure at the end of the small hill, standing still and staring at him.

_What the hell?_

So far they haven’t met anyone, not even travellers. Too cold of a hellhole to meet anyone in, so what is _this?_ Fjord squares his shoulders and straightens to his full height and stares back, eyes narrowing.

     “Can I help you with somethin’?” he drawls, low and rumbling.

The figure jumps as if slapped and after a beat of hesitation, approaches Fjord.

     “Hello there,” a low, scratchy voice says inside the hood, and Fjord can faintly make out old eyes staring at him in silent shock.

     “Hey,” Fjord replies, furrowing his brow. “You seem to be far away from - well, from fuckin’ anywhere.”

The man huffs a choked laugh, a violent tremor going through his thin shoulders, and he wraps his arms around his frame as if to shield himself from the wind.  

     “Yes, unfortunately so... and I have to admit I am...surprised to see anyone else here besides myself.” He angles his head up to look at Fjord. Fjord can’t really see his features under the hood, but he senses the heavy weight of the man’s gaze.

Shivers crawl on Fjord’s spine, up to the nape of his neck, for reasons he can’t explain.

The man seems human _,_ a warm, real human being, but there’s something... not quite off, not quite wrong, but something in him crackles and sends white-hot embers in the air, just barely noticeable _._

Is it magic? The lines on Fjord’s forehead grow into a suspicious scowl. _Huh._

     “So, uh, what brings you to these parts?” he asks, hoping to sound casual and inwardly grimaces, because that really doesn’t sound cool at all. Yep, he’s a smooth bastard, dammit.  

The man makes another strangled sound, almost like a huff of laughter.

     “Several things, I am afraid,” he replies, and Fjord thinks he catches a note of an accent there. But then the man speaks again and it’s gone. “It is an awful place to be stranded, that is fair.” He glances at the firewood. “You seem to be short on those.”

     “Yeah, well, I don’t mind.”

Back at the camp Caleb can take a long rest, he’s been spent thin and hollow since their last fight with a hill giant, all ragged and blood on lips, and Fjord’s willing to give him every possible break that he can.

(he’s seen those dark, exhausted circles around caleb’s eyes, the pallid skin and tired, _tired_ smile.)

_(you are silly to worry, fjord - fee-yord)_

The orb flutters between them, and the cold blue glow illuminates the figure’s face under the hood.

He _is_ a human man, to Fjord’s surprise. An old man with pale, weathered face, etched with years and years and scars and _grief;_ the mouth’s twisted into a thin, tired line under grayed beard and there are deep shadows between his brows.

He is a man who has carried a world on his shoulders for a life-time or two. 

But his eyes are clear and surprisingly sharp, like razor-blades.

Fjord pauses, frowning.

The man stiffens.

     “What’re you doing here, then?” Fjord drawls. He figures it might be wiser to play along, no matter who this man is. “Far away as you are, too, if I may point that out.”

     “I’m - “ the man hesitates and shrugs the coat so it hides him better inside. “I am searching,” he settles to say and glances at Fjord. “May I be of service somehow?”

The back of Fjord’s neck prickles again, and he finds himself on edge. Something’s - something’s _off,_ and it makes him grit his teeth together. It gnaws the inside of his mind, insistent like a fuckin’ gnat, and it irritates Fjord that he can’t get a proper grasp on it.

      “Oh, sorry,” says the man, sounding a little startled. “I have made you uncomfortable.”

_Why does that - ?_

     “Nah, not uncomfortable. Suspicious might be more accurate, though.” Fjord eyes him under his knitted eyebrows. His pulse starts to pick up, heart pumping hot blood quicker. “What’re you searching? There’s nothing out here, no offense.”

     “I find myself here purely because of academic interests, I assure you,” the man replies, and it comes out easy, almost practised from the man’s mouth. He’s quiet and asks, almost awkwardly: “I - do you need assistance?”

Fjord gapes, startled. “What?”

     “You. You need wood what I assume is for fire, which means you might be at disadvantage here. I can help.”

     “We don’t need help, thanks, though.”

     “Oh, you are not alone, then?”

_Fuck._

Fjord scowls, his upper lip twitching upwards just a bit to reveal more of his teeth. The man doesn’t jump, doesn’t even flinch, but in the dim, magical light, something _sad_ passes over his worn features.

     “My apologies,” he murmurs. “I have over-stepped my boundaries.”

_What the hell - ?_

Fjord’s lungs give a jittery tug, as if someone’s punched him in the chest.

     “No, fuck - I - no, it’s fine. But you gotta admit, it’s kinda weird to run into some guy in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere and he wants to give a hand, just no strings attached. Or am I wrong in assumin’ that?”

     “Not quite so, but I have no ulterior motives in offering,” the man replies, lifting his chin to look Fjord in the eyes. His eyes are very clear, and the orb paints his irises bright azure. “I have known kindness and received kindness in return when I did nothing to deserve such a thing, so I want to pay it forward in any way I can. This is that way and _that_ is my motive.” 

Feeling strangely scolded, Fjord clears his throat and grumbles: “We’re fuckin’ freezing, all right, that’s what’s happening.”

     “It is very cold,” the man nods matter-of-factly and rummages through his coat pockets. After few moments, he fishes out a small pouch and hands it to Fjord. “Use this on the firewood. It should light very quickly. Lasts longer as well. And please do not stand close, it will singe your nose otherwise.”

Bewildered, Fjord weighs the pouch on his palm. “Why would you just give this to me?”

     “Ah, just indulge an old man.” The man smiles, but it’s small, weary. “You can examine it later, if you are still suspicious. I promise it is harmless.”

     “No, I - I’m just confused. Who _are_ you?”

The man laughs, and it’s a rusty wet croak as if he’s not used to it. “Just a traveller, that is all. You have nothing to fear from me.” In the orb’s light, his eyes soften. “Have safe travels, my friend.”

He gives a polite nod to Fjord and starts to make his way up the hill and out of the view.

With that, stunned and a little bit freaked out, Fjord returns to the camp.

_What the fuuuuck just happened?_

+

     “Some random old dude just gave you something - are those drugs, what the fuck, it could literally be anything and you just _took it?”_

     “No, he - would you chill, god fuckin’ dammit - no, he said it’ll keep the fire goin’, seeing as we are in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere.”

Beau squints her eyes at him, her arms crossed over her chest. “It could be like - I don’t know, poison powder and it’ll kill us all when we light it on fire, where the hell is your self-preservation, you asshole?”

     “Hey, we’re freezing our asses off here, thought it might be worth of checking out. ‘Duceus can look it over in case it’s poison or whatever, but I don’t think it’s li - c’mon _, no,_ stop glarin’ at me, Beau.”

Her nose wrinkles. “I’m _so_ kicking your ass if it ends up being poison.”

     “Yeah, noted.”

Fjord glances at the dome where Caleb’s curled on his and Beau’s bedrolls. He’s fallen in fitful, feverish sleep during the time Fjord’s been out, and a little worried, Fjord notices how his sunken eyes are moving under closed lids, like his dreams are just haunting nightmares.

_Fuck. Why can’t the world just let Caleb rest? Always gotta be something._

Beau notices where he’s looking, and her anger melts, a little. “He’s been twitching a lot,” she mutters, chewing her lower lip. “Still asleep, though, so that has to count for something, right?”

     “He’s gonna be all right,” Fjord grunts, ignoring that painful lurch in the pit of his stomach.

     “...yeah.”  

  _He has to be._

+

They try to light the fire.

Beau stands way back with Nott, her crossbow aimed right at the fire.

The fire itself is pretty successful.  

They stare at it for half a minute in case something catastrophic happens.

The wind howls.

Nothing happens. It’s just a bright, warm fire.

Beau squints.  

     “Okay, fuckin’ fine, it could’ve been poison,” she snaps, irritated. “Don’t take weird shit from weird people, especially if it’s free, I thought that was like, basic knowledge.”

     “It was a gamble, _sure,_ but hey, it works and we’re not freezing anymore.” 

Jester’s wrapped in cozy winter robes, the tip of her nose turning pink. “It’s pretty,” she says, tilting her head. “Is that - that’s a weeeeird colour. Is it really supposed to look like that? Ooh! Is it magic fire? That’d be so cool!”

     “Kinda, yeah?” Caduceus says, his voice a little rough with disuse and blinks slowly at the fire. “Oh, that looks nice, very lively. But it will hold a long time, so that’s...that’s good. I guess.” He considers it for a moment. “No, yeah, I - I really think that was a good trade, Fjord.”

At this point Beau looks like she’s two seconds away from bursting a blood vessel.

     “It wasn’t a fuckin’ _tra - !”_ Throwing her arms in the air, she gives up and stalks to Caleb and proceeds to pour out her aggressions by tugging the blankets on him better.

Nott’s eyeing the fire suspiciously, taking a slow sip of her alcohol.

Fjord raises an eyebrow at her. “You gonna give me shit about it, too?”

She snorts, her mangled teeth clinking against the flask. “Pfft, no? It’s warm, that’s all I care about. This is an awful, _awful_ place, I hate it and no one wants to freeze out here. If he gave it free and didn’t ask your loyalty or blood or soul or _whatever_ in return, I’m happy.”

     “Okay, cool, thanks. I guess.”

     “Though, if he wanted your soul in return for it, I would have thrown you at him without hesitation.”

     “Okay, okay, _thanks,_ now, that’s enough, Nott - “

     “Actually I would’ve done it for free, now that I think about it.”

     “ _Okay.”_  

+

Caleb’s still sleeping.

+

At night, they wake up to an explosion.

The snow under them shifts and shakes, and an eerie emerald green flash erupts across the snowfields, causing the dark sky to blaze vivid for a heartbeat before it fades into familiar darkness.

Then it’s quiet.

     “What was that?”

Beau’s on her feet in a second, gripping her staff.

     “It came from there - “

     “Should we check it out? We should, right, that looked - not good - “

_That’s the direction where the old man went,_ Fjord thinks, and ice cold weight plummets through his chest. _Dammit._

     “We should,” he grunts, summoning the falchion in his hand. “I’m going. Anyone else?”

Beau and Jester both still and fix him a look. “I am,” they both say simultaneously and glance at each other, surprised, but then, they smile at each other, pleased and shy.

_Okay, then,_ Fjord thinks, already a bit distracted.

     “I’ll stay at the camp,” Caduceus says easily. “Send me a message if you need help, if you - if you need me to come.”

     “Will do.” Fjord hesitates, his gaze drifting towards Caleb, still asleep in the dome. “Take care of him?”

Caduceus hums, low in his chest. “Of course. Everything will be fine.”

Nott cocks her crossbow. “They can try,” she mumbles.

+

They cross the snowfields. It takes time, the snow has gathered into tall drifts, and the icy cold wind whips at their bare skin, chills digging further and further, and _yeah, Fjord fuckin’ hates this shit._

     “What do you think it was?” Jester asks, pressing her pink mittens on her cheeks to keep herself warm. “It looked pretty serious - chemicals ooor magic? Or _oh_ , do you think it was kinda like in Zadash?”

Beau makes an annoyed sound as she tries to break the snow in front of them with the staff.

     “I - guess? I mean, I’m not sure, there wasn’t any towers standing around, though, kinda like as a referencing point,” she says and bites off a curse. “Damn _snow_ , getting in my boots, got fuckin’ wet socks now, _great._ ”

They wade through a bit further.

     “Do you think Caleb will be okay?” Jester asks, her voice small, uncertain.

Another kind of chill prickles in Fjord’s neck, and it’s not because of the cold temperature.

     “’Course he will,” he grunts, wading forward. “He just needs to catch his breath.”

     “Yeah, but I mean, he’s slept soo long _now._ He looks so pale and he never sleeps long, he stays up and he reads his dumb books, and now he’s barely conscious and I can’t _do_ anything to help and it’s so stupid...”

Beau reaches and grips Jester’s forearm with comforting strength.

     “Hey. He’s gonna be fine,” she says, with low, calming voice, although Fjord can almost hear the same panic, same worry creaking under her tone. “He’s just running on fumes, okay? He’s gonna be fine. He’s just... taking it slow, now. It’s fine. Totally fine.”

_It has to be._

Jester nods, her eyes down-cast and miserable, and opens her mouth -

\- but that’s when they see it.

A figure lays on the snow, half-way buried in.

It’s the old man.

Fjord curses. Hissing breath between his teeth, he runs down the drift to the man, kneels beside him.

     “Hey. Hey, ol’ timer, you alive? This ain’t the time to be lying around,” he says and shakes him carefully.

The man is still for a second, and for that second alone Fjord is so sure he’s dead, but then - then the old man draws in a shaky, wet, _terrible_ breath and his eyes snap wide open, blue and -

_scared._

Terrified.

The man blinks, _blinks_ when he realizes it’s Fjord.

A turmoil of emotions flicker through the old man’s dirty face - confusion, fear, horror, raw agony and grief and finally, all of it pulls back behind a smooth, neutral mask that fits wrong on him.

Like it has been a perfectly polished poker mask once, but now it’s cracked and wrong.

Fjord’s sure he’s -

_he’s so sure he’s seen that before._  

_But what - ?_

     “Ah,” the old man says with a dejected laugh and turns his head away, “I have caused trouble again.”

The way he looks away, the way he shifts away into his large coat as if wanting to shrink back into his bones, the way his scent wafts from his clothes, and it’s a strange mixture of crisp frost, rich earth and something from forest after rain, _his eyes_ -

Fjord’s mouth goes dry.

He stares at the man, his brain going numb and terribly empty as he desperately tries to understand what’s going on. To find a reason, any sort of logic to apply into this, because it can’t be what his senses are screaming at him.

_It can’t -_

The man stiffens and closes his eyes as if he’s in pain.

     “Oh,” he says softly. “I am sorry. I am, I really am, please believe me.”

Fjord can barely hear it.

His head is full of white noise, rattling in his ears, _he can’t believe -_

But out of his mouth comes a choked: “Caleb?”

+


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fjord's not adjusting.

Fjord can’t breathe.

He _can’t._

He can only stare at this worn, ancient face, _those eyes who are blue and bright and so, so achingly familiar -_ now that his consciousness has made the connection, he can’t get rid of it, can’t unsee it and it leaves him wondering how the hell he ever could’ve thought otherwise.

It is Caleb.

Caleb Widogast, with his thin and fragile bones sticking out against the coat, Caleb, so terribly _old_ and broken in this moment but every cell in Fjord chants that it is him, no matter how old, _it is him._

     “Caleb - “ he manages to say, his voice gutted and reaches a trembling hand toward him. “Caleb, what the _hell - ?”_

There is no other explanation, no other reason, it is him, pure and simple, but everything else in situation is senseless and fitting wrong.  

\- _fjord would know, he’d know the difference -_

The old man shuts his eyes, his jaw clenched together so hard he’s shaking.

     “I did not intend for this to happen,” he whispers, almost wheezing, and now Fjord can hear the familiar Zemnian accent bleeding through it. “You always were so very clever, I am sorry, Fjord.”

_Fee-yord._

Fjord’s mouth is paper-dry.

     “How is this possible? How can it be you?” he asks, rough, his mind reeling. “You’re back at the camp, you - “

The old man - old _Caleb -_ huffs another laugh, broken and rusty. “It is complicated,” he murmurs. “I did not intend you to see me. I - you were not supposed to, but once again gods laugh at my intentions.”

Fjord has no response to that.

Old Caleb looks over Fjord’s shoulder and notices Jester coming down the hill, and if there was any doubt if this is Caleb or not, it vanishes, because Caleb pales ghostly white and something like utter devastation crosses his face again.

Fjord has seen that expression many times, he realizes now.

     “ _Ja,_ of course,” old Caleb says, tired and heaves himself up from the snow. “This is my personal hell, then. Rather fitting, I guess, for a punishment.”

     “What does that mean? What the hell happened to you?” Fjord asks breathlessly and now he’s scared of hearing the answer, because old Caleb’s gaze is heavy with grief and dull with pain, and it feels like a brutal slap to witness that in _Caleb’s_ face.

     “Everything that I deserved,” he replies hollowly. “But this does not need to concern them, it is better if - I - I would rather not, she cannot see - “ With great effort, he shuts his mouth and swallows. “Please, hold on to me?”

Fjord doesn’t really question it.

He’s not scared, he realizes in a strange detached way like it’s merely an observation. He’s not scared of Caleb, young or old, so he doesn’t hesitate and touches Caleb’s shoulder.

Caleb shudders and faltering under it just a bit, he grasps Fjord’s wrist, and in golden-dark flash, they teleport.

+

They end up closer than Fjord’s thought.

He can still see the ridge of the mountains, but from a different angle, so he estimates it’s a bit more west. They’re still close enough to the camp, and that makes him relax.

Glancing around, he realizes that Caleb’s teleported them near a hut.

 _His_ hut, and now, it’s more of a real cottage. Upon closer inspection, Fjord notices the glow is more dim than before, more fractured around the walls as if it’s been bombarded countless times from the outside, but Fjord recognizes it nonetheless.

 _How long has it been?_ he thinks, his chest aching. _What the hell’s happened so it looks like that?_

_That **Caleb** looks like that? _

Dizzy, he follows Caleb inside, and he’s not surprised to find it cozy. Very much like Caleb himself, in all honesty. Books, parchments, scrolls and quills are scattered on a small table near an armchair with ink-stains on the upholstery, and there’s a pot of broth simmering on a stove nearby.

     “I am sorry,” Caleb repeats again and slumps in the chair near the stove, wringing his hands towards the warmth. In the fire’s light, his eyes are sunken, harrowed. “That - it is easier this way, for several reasons.”

     “You’re Caleb,” Fjord manages again, but he doesn’t give a shit if he sounds like he’s repeating himself.

Caleb shudders in his coat, turning his head away with a rustling laugh. “How are you sure?” he asks with difficulty. “I could be an illusion. A polymorphed ghost. Anything to be used against you.”

     “No,” Fjord growls instantly. “I’d know. You can’t pretend for shit.”

Caleb watches him, his head slightly tilted. “You sound very confident about that.”

     “Think I’ve got some room to be, your scent hasn’t changed.”

Caleb seems to consider this for a bit. “Ah, of course. But that does not matter, I am older, far older than the one you travel with.” Sighing, he leans back and truly, _truly_ looks like he’s centuries old.

The thought makes Fjord’s insides drop cold like a block of ice.

_How long has it been?_

Caleb opens his eyes to study him carefully. “You are curious. Ask.”

     “If I do, will you answer?” Fjord asks, low.

Caleb huffs another laugh, this time sounding more like with actual humour, his eyes flashing so very bright.

     “Clever,” he says softly, _fondly,_ and Fjord doesn’t know what that really means. “We will see.” 

     “All right, fair enough.” Fjord’s fingers twitch into fists. “How are you here?”

Caleb sighs and sags further into the chair. “By selfishness, accident and pure, conceited arrogance,” he murmurs. “Along those lines, at least.”

Fjord tenses, a painful knot tightening in his throat. “Did you do it?” he grunts, his voice scratching his mouth. “Go back to save your parents? Is this what it’s about? Why you’re here?”

The sound that Caleb makes is nothing short of heart wrenching. It’s a sigh, so old and _broken._

     “I - I forgot I told - _nein,_ that was my plan, for a very long time,” he says. “My only goal, the only thing that I wanted to matter. But then it mattered less and after that... Ikithon found us. Do you remember him?”

     “Yeah, I remember him,” Fjord growls, his claws nearly digging into his palms. “Remember wantin’ to show him a thing or two.”

Caleb’s smile is a thin, fragile thing. “ _Ja,_ I remember that as well.” His smile becomes brittle and dies. “He - he was obsessed with dunamancy and it’s use in practise. In warfare. In _changing_ things into his favour, into power. He... he got greedy. Excessively so. Although I should not be the one to throw any stones considering what I wanted and what I ended up doing.”

Dark, grim shadow falls in his gaze as he stares at the flames in the stove. “He found us,” he murmurs. “He found _me._ After such a long time, after so many years, contentment and struggling be apart from all that is the Empire, he finally did. He used time magic in a ritual, powered by living souls, blood and luck.” His breathing hitches. “And - and _me._ And... it - it broke something else. Everything. _Everyone.”_

Caleb’s breathing turns heavy, shallow in the jagged jerks of his thin chest. “Everyone died,” he whispers, and the agony in his voice is visceral. “ _Everything_. The whole world _broke._ And I - I broke along with it.”

His nostrils flare, and Fjord’s instincts scream at him to touch him, to _comfort_ Caleb - this is still Caleb, the one whom he trusts with everything he has, the one whom he -

But he doesn’t. He can’t move _,_ he’s rooted to the ground.

Caleb still stares at the flames.

     “I stopped my plans that moment,” he whispers, “yet I caught up in his magic and ended here anyway. It is a punishment for trying to reach so far, and fates are not known to be kind to human foolishness, so I will not, I will stop it - “

A shaky exhale pours out of his mouth, and he shudders again, gripping his knees. “It is unbearable,” he rasps. “To be the only one alive when I am the last one to deserve it. To see you die in front of me, to see your soul _leave_ from this world, to hear you draw your last _breath_ and knowing that is the last I will ever - “

He turns his head away, his throat working.

Fjord’s numb. He can’t move. He can’t think.

He can just stare at this man, _Caleb,_ in devastated silence.

     “You - you saw me die?” he asks.

     “... _ja.”_ Caleb’s lips twitch into a sorrowful smile like he can’t quite help himself. “You were so very brave and so, _so_ impulsive. Reckless. Of course you were brave.” 

     “I’m sorry that you - you had to see that. Does that mean - are we - are we still the Nein?”

     “Our bunch of lunatics? We are bad at letting go,” Caleb nods and nostalgic tenderness flashes on his face like he’s reminiscing, and with a sickening jolt, Fjord realizes it’s in Caleb’s _past._

(fjord thinks he might be ill.)

      “They were the best people I’ve had the pleasure of knowing in my wretched little life,” Caleb continues quietly, rubbing his thumb on his bony knuckles. “Which... which is why I am here now, doing this.”

His voice turns anguished, straining under desperate determination.

     “It is too late for me, I cannot save _my_ present, I cannot save my friends or my loved ones, not from him, not anymore. I have absolutely nothing left in this life, but now that I am here... I will not let it go to waste. I can change it. If I can turn the tide, even a little bit to our favour, to _your_ favour, it might not end up in blood path or slaughter. He might be stopped in time.”

Fjord’s throat is scrubbed raw when he croaks: “How?”

     “I have few cards up in my sleeve,” Caleb says, and there’s that familiar tone of confidence, an old playful echo that Fjord recognizes. “It will work. I have had time to plan and make it work.”

_Let’s make it work._

_(an old promise,_ it’s such an old, dear promise, and fjord thinks his heart might shatter.)

In truth, Fjord doesn’t know how to respond to all of this. His mind is blank, so empty of all the answers and questions and witty retorts. A part of him insists none of this is real. It simply _can’t_ be.

But it is. This is Caleb Widogast, old and scarred and in pain, it is him, and this is absolutely, terrifyingly real.

     “Are you freaking out?” Caleb asks.

Fjord’s head pounds with hot blood. “No. Nope. Not freakin’ out.”

     “I think you are lying, my friend,” Caleb says almost patiently. “It is all right. It’s a lot. It is too much, I do not blame you. But now you know. And for that, I am sorry.”

Fjord’s dizzy, so he sits down on the carpet, gawking at the fireplace, trying desperately to get his thought process under control.

It’s not working. His heartbeat thunders in his temples.

     “Fjord?”

_Fee-yord._

It haunts and echoes inside his skull. He’s heard his name in that accent so many times, but now there’s a painful vice around his chest, squeezing and tightening the hold on his ribs, _he can’t believe -_

     “Fjord - breathe. You have to breathe, slow - slow and easy. Can you breathe, for me, please? _Bitte?_ That is _gut,_ you are doing so well. Again, please? There you go.”

Caleb’s voice becomes soft and comforting, billowing a safe sensation in Fjord’s crowded head. It takes a while, Fjord loses track of time or how many times he breathes in and out, _in out in out -_

He’s distantly aware of Caleb’s hand on his shoulder, small and surprisingly strong, gripping him, the warmth seeping through the clothes into Fjord’s skin. _It’s real._

_He’s real._

     “I’m so fuckin’ sorry, Caleb,” he grunts out, his own voice sounding like gravel, even to his own ears.

     “Why? It was not your fault,” Caleb murmurs, still squeezing his shoulder.

     “Dunno about that, but... what you went through, _shit -_ I can’t even imagine, I - that - fuck, I’m _so sorry.”_

Caleb smiles, and it’s still glass-thin and breakable but it’s him, flesh and blood and so impossibly _Caleb_ despite everything he has gone through.

     “It is all right,” he murmurs. “I have lived long and I have made my peace with what must be done. The least I can do for this present that it will not unravel because of mad men like me and him.”

Fjord stares at him desperately, at the lines and crow’s feet around Caleb’s blue, blue eyes and nothing, _no sight_ has torn at him like this one.

     “Why didn’t you want to meet them? Meet Jester? She would’ve wanted to help,” he finds himself saying, remembering the terror on Caleb’s face.

Caleb shakes his head. “It - I - it would have been less of a kindness and more breaking her heart. To be more of a monster. I am that already, worse and awful in every single way, but she does not have to see that if I can help it. She is better off without knowing the ugly parts of me.”

     “But you told me.”

Fjord stares at him, and Caleb’s eyes widen a fraction. Then, he laughs again, weak and tired.

     “ _Ja,_ that is right, I did. You and I, we are...different. Always were. And it is the most selfish and most unfair thing I could have done. You know now and the biggest part of me is more than sorry that you do. That is why... it is purely selfish of me, to indulge in talking with you and burdening you with all of this when you - you deserve none of it.”  

     “Bullshit, Caleb, I _asked_.”

Caleb hides it well but he flinches, and Fjord wonders how long has it been since Caleb has heard his own name. His name that he preferred.

_From Fjord._

_From the Nein._

_From anyone._

It’s silent, and Fjord has no idea what to say. What the hell _can_ he say to him? Nothing of value, nothing smart, nothing comforting, there is fucking _nothing_ he can say. So instead, he watches Caleb. 

The stove’s glow paints Caleb’s graying hair to fascinating shade of silver and mahogany, and Fjord does see it, he can see _his_ Caleb in this old, old skin.

With an absent hum, Caleb takes the pot’s lid off and hands Fjord a bowl of delicious smelling broth.

     “Cookin’, huh, look at you,” Fjord chokes out. It’s so stupid, so fucking idiotic to open his mouth, but he desperately wants to say something.

Caleb doesn’t even blink. “I am capable, _ja,_ surprisingly,” he replies, and it sounds easy, comforting.

     “Still, smells amazing, just saying.”

_What the fuck **am** I even saying? _

Fjord doesn’t know. The whole situation is surreal; he’s sitting with his friend who is from the bad, _bad_ future and Fjord’s talking about the goddamn _food_ he’s cooked.

It tastes delicious.

+

They eat in companionable silence.

Like they have done it countless, _countless_ times.

     “Did you ever marry?” Fjord blurts out and instantly freezes. _Shit._ He just can’t help it, can he, he thinks furiously and grits his teeth together. He just _can’t_ stop poking at bleeding wounds, _can he._ “I - I’m sorry, shit, that was fuckin’ tactless, you don’t have to answer - “

     “You are curious, I know,” Caleb replies calmly. “You with your fascination with magic and accents and eagerness to eat swords could not be anything else.”

     “Hey now - “

     “We did not,” he murmurs, his eyes turning glazed in the golden-red glow. “At least not in a way others would recognize. Not that their opinion mattered, at any rate. We did not need holy ceremonies to tell each other we were devoted.”

The words on Fjord’s mouth suddenly turn to glass, and something cold and sharp fills his lungs.

_Oh._

     “You ‘n - Jester?” he asks hesitantly.

Caleb gazes at him, then, with such warm amused affection _._ “ _Nein,”_ he murmurs finally, “not Jester. It was not like that. She would have found it hilarious, however.”

Fjord gawks at him, suddenly very aware how well he’s not handling this. He wonders if he should ask more, because apparently he might be a masochistic asshole so he shuts his mouth and the moment passes.

It’s none of his business, anyway - if Caleb’s happy, then it doesn’t even matter.

Fjord stares ahead, and as he’s watching Caleb carefully sip his broth like he’s seen him do a thousand times, the brutality of the situation finally sinks into Fjord’s hazy brain, and a burning lump forms in his throat.

_This is Caleb._

No matter how many times his mind tries to tell him that, each time it hurts more. Everytime he catches a glimpse of a ghost, of the Caleb that he knows right now, it hurts.

It just _hurts._

This Caleb has gone ahead on a road that’s still unknown to Fjord, this Caleb has suffered until he’s bled dry and empty, full of ache and raw nerves, this Caleb has lived and fallen and _been_ in love, this is Caleb Widogast whom Fjord loves fiercely right now, _in this present._

_And this Caleb is so alone right now._

Without any of them there with him, without Fjord, without Beau, _without anyone._

     “Fjord?”

     “I - “ Fjord’s throat is full of dust. He grips the bowl. “I - I’m sorry. Were you happy? Before all this bullshit, were you happy?”

_Please tell me you were happy._

Caleb looks up, his eyes turned into honey-soft in the rich light. Something calm, almost serene passes over him.

     “ _Ja_ ,” he says softly. “I was. I was very happy. More than I - more than I thought I had any right to be.”  

For one moment, the words twist inside Fjord, jealousy turning things in his head painful and ugly, but then... it fades, leaving behind only acceptance.

Fjord doesn’t give a shit because that means Caleb’s been happy, less haunted, less tormented, there’s nothing Fjord could’ve asked for more.

It doesn’t matter it’s not Fjord.

It doesn’t matter if Fjord never got his own damn head out of his ass, because if this person made Caleb happy, made him smile and forget the bad things even for a little while, then it was all worth it, even for that one shining moment when Ikithon hadn’t destroyed everything.

     “You are very sweet to ask,” Caleb says quietly.  

     “Nah, just fuckin’ selfish, that’s all it is. Though I - I’m happy to hear you found happiness of - of any kind.”  

_And that is the truth. He is._

Caleb observes him, in that sharp, quiet way of his and sets his bowl in his lap. “Fjord.”

     “Mmh?”

A beat.

     “...thank you.”

Fjord frowns, confused. “For what?”

Caleb smiles under his beard, and for the first time, it’s real and genuine, crinkling his eyes, his mouth turning into a gentle curve in a way that seizes Fjord’s lungs.

     “ _Ach,_ no, never mind, it is all right,” he says kindly, but it sounds like he’s received an answer nonetheless. “Now give me that mug over there.”

+

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duu, they're talking! :D  
> Also thank you so much for all the kind comments from the last chapter, you guys are amazing! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is always a price.

It doesn’t leave Fjord alone.

It digs deeper into his brain, through the haze of numb shock and pain and fondness and _despair_ that are cluttering in his head.

He’s not even looking for it. It’s just a stray thought, wondering and flickering, and he finds himself glancing. Caleb wears no jewellery, and rings don’t seem to be an exception to that case, and Fjord is definitely _not_ thinking about it.

(he’s not.)

Caleb’s being vague about the whole thing - apparently the evading hasn’t changed in the next few decades so that’s something - of course that is Caleb’s right, he doesn’t owe a damn thing to anyone so Fjord doesn’t push it.

(none of his business, anyway.)

     “So - uh, what’re you going to do? To - to stop him?” Fjord asks and hates instantly how awkward he sounds.

It’s not what he wants to ask, but it’s what he’ll settle for.

Caleb makes a low hum in his throat as he’s washing the dishes in the small kitchen. The bowls clink against each other in the basin, and some soap bubbles rise in the air.

And okay, yeah, Fjord knows where this silence is going.

     “You’re - you’re not gonna tell me, are you?”  

Caleb is a stubborn bastard no matter what age, apparently. Kind of comforting to know that.

     “I’m _thinking,”_ is his reply, almost defensive.

     “Which - yeah, that usually means ‘no’ with you.”

Caleb snorts, his brow twitching like he’s hiding his amusement, and Fjord recognizes that as well.

 _What a dumbass,_ an involuntary part of Fjord’s brain supplies affectionately. He joins beside Caleb and starts to towel the dishes dry.

     “I have been researching,” Caleb starts delicately and runs his thumb on the bowl’s side, scrubbing some grime away.

     “In libraries, I’m guessing?”

     “You would have loved that, for sure.”

     “Yep, no doubt about that. Gotta love those books, like damn. Learn anything? C’mon, gimme, I can dry that - “

     “... _danke.”_

This is strangely familiar that Fjord can’t really explain. The way Caleb shifts next to him, reaches over him to take a bowl without looking or moving to accomodate Fjord as if he’s so _used_ to being in Fjord’s space.

     “And yes, to answer your question, I did,” Caleb continues without missing a beat. “Many things. I’ve had time, some - some room to maneuver before things go...wrong.”

Perhaps Caleb realizes he’s said enough, because his expressions falters and seems to pull back.

     “Gonna tell me what your plan is?” Fjord asks quietly.   

Considering, Caleb sucks his top lip against his teeth. “I - it should not be yours to worry about, not yet, not for a long while,” he replies hesitantly. “It is my responsibility, mine to fix and mine to carry.”

     “Again, I’m gonna call bullshit on that, you told me what happened and you expect me not to worry about it? Worry about _you_ , goddamn it?”

Caleb’s hands still in the hot water. Fjord notices his jaw working, the muscle in his throat giving a small tug.

_Silence._

Caleb’s always been more on the quiet side, but now, there’s that stubbornness, the teeth-clenching determination that Fjord is also very familiar with.

 _(silence. silence_.)

Then, Caleb says very quietly: “Careful, this one is splintered.”  

After a belated moment, Fjord realizes Caleb’s talking about a mug.

His insides feeling prickly and numb, he takes the mug.

+

The silence is driving Fjord insane.

Caleb is quiet again, but in a way Fjord _knows_ he’s plotting or thinking something, weighing the options, and not knowing where it’s going to end up, makes Fjord uneasy.

They finish washing the dishes and Caleb pulls his frayed blue scarf around his neck again.

He’s half-way shrugged the coat back on, his movement weary, when his spine suddenly goes stiff and he hisses, almost folding into himself.

Alarmed, Fjord jumps, reaching for him. “Caleb - ?”

But Caleb straightens, pulls his coat tighter with pale knuckles and shakes his head.

     “No, no, it is fine.” He exhales and opens his eyes. “I am fine.” He doesn’t quite force a smile, but it looks faint, and his poker face isn’t as convincing as before. “We should go. The blizzard is - is picking up, and it will do you no good to get frozen in this god-forsaken place, _ja?_ ”

His lips twitch into another pained smile.

Fjord stares at him, his chest knotted into a tight, vice-like grip. “Are you sure?”

Thousand questions swirl in his mind. _What was that? Are you sure you’re gonna be all right? What are you gonna do? How can I help? How long has this been going on?_

And finally, a thought that is not a question but a statement -

_I don’t want to leave you._

Caleb looks back. “You are worried,” he chuckles weakly like it’s somehow news to him.

     “Yeah, no shit I’m worried,” Fjord grunts and that wish to comfort surfaces again - the part of him that wants to touch Caleb, to comfort, to reassure him it’s going to be all right even though he has no idea how he’ll manage that.

Caleb watches him quietly, biting his lower lip and hesitates. He opens his mouth, then changes his mind and just murmurs: “We should go.”

Fjord sighs. No point in pestering him. Figures. “Fine. Lead the way.”

+

The sky has darkened into an ink-black canvas.

The snow drifts create a pale, dim light just enough to see where to step, and Fjord follows Caleb who moves forward, his head bowed under his hood. The wind sends icy chills through Fjord’s jacket into his skin, and he’s so _fuckin’ cold._

When they get to a small nook where the wind doesn’t ring and howl in their ears, they stop to catch their breath.

     “You know this whole ‘keepin’ silent’ thing isn’t really working out,” Fjord says, wiping snow from his hair. “You can’t drop news like that on someone then think they don’t fuckin’ care, Caleb.”

Caleb’s chest gives another hitch under his coat, and his mouth tightens under the beard. “If it keeps you alive, then I will bear it gladly,” he replies, the consonants stiff and clipped in his mouth. _Tired_ under all the weight.

Fjord opens his mouth to argue, but then -

They hear it simultaneously.

It’s a distant rumble at first, but there’s something... _off._

Fading and thunderous, but just a note too wrong.

Before Fjord can ask what it means, he sees it. The air fractures around Caleb, breaks into angular fragments, and eerie poison green glow claws out under Caleb’s skin.

The wizard lets out a strangled noise of pain, pulls into himself, _shrinking back,_ his breathing growing harsh and shallow as he clutches his forearms as if trying to keep himself whole.

     “ _Caleb - ?!”_

Caleb’s whole frame seems twitch, distort out of shape, and Fjord’s brain can’t almost grasp what he’s seeing, it’s too strange to fit into his eye sight.

His breathing grows even faster, into dry heaves between clenched teeth, and Fjord kneels beside him, frantic.

     “Caleb - c’mon, how can I help, what can I _do - ?”_

Caleb’s figure stills, pulls back into him, and he looks solid again. He slumps forward, the tip of his nose nearly touching the snow drift.

After a beat of hesitation, Fjord touches his shoulder and his hand meets warmth and flesh. _Real._

     “Caleb.”

     “I - I am fine,” Caleb wheezes out, sounding more shaken than before.

     “Again, _bullshit_ ,” Fjord growls out, his despair and worry spilling over the edge. “C’mon, breathe, easy - good, again - what was that?”

Caleb sighs, his grip tightening around his forearms. Blood’s drained from his knuckles.

     “ _Oy,_ the consequences, I am afraid,” he finally sighs, defeated. “This world does not like trespassers who deviate from the path.”

     “ _What?”_

     “Do not worry.”

     “Stop _saying that - !“_

     “No, you do not understand.” Caleb swallows, his throat convulsing. “Here, I am an infection. I am not supposed to be here, in this time as I am... so close to my younger self, my _own soul._ It is unnatural, so the world struggles to regain balance.”

Fjord’s ears ring. A buzzing sound fills his head. 

     “What? How - how will it do that?”

Caleb huffs a laugh, but it sounds worn down. “By force, of course. The world tries to adjust, and it means I am on borrowed time before it catches up to me.” The lines on his face darken and grow heavier as he sighs again. “However it looks like it is going to be sooner than I would have hoped.”

     “Was - was that earlier flash the same thing?” Fjord asks, his head lolling feverishly with all the new information over-flooding his senses.

     “Most likely, _ja.”_

     “Shit.”

     “Mmh.”

They’re quiet; Fjord trying to process this new development, feeling nearly sick in the stomach, and Caleb sitting in the snow, breathing through his nose. His face looks pallid.

     “It is not long now,” Caleb says finally to break the silence. “To - to your camp.”

     “Why take me?” It slips out of Fjord’s mouth, more bitten out than he intends, but it’s still plaguing his mind. “Out of everyone? You didn’t wanna talk to ‘em, so why take me?”

_Why tell me all of this? Why tell me anything?_

Caleb stills, his chest locking in mid-breath. “I - “ He shuts his mouth with a click. “Honestly? Because I panicked. Because I was not prepared. Because I thought I was, but then I saw you and then... I wasn’t.”

He smiles again, all thin and wan and tired. “But that is my fault, not yours. I was not lying, it was purely...purely selfish of me to talk to you. To say _anything_ to you. I - “

Caleb’s hand twitches toward Fjord just for one moment, and then he catches himself and tucks his hand into his coat again and turns his head away.

     “We - we should keep moving.”

+

When they’re getting up from the snow, Fjord catches sight of _it._

Caleb’s still in the snow, his coat’s parted, his ratty scarf hanging loose around his neck.

And that’s when Fjord sees it. He doesn’t mean to, worry’s tightening in his throat, Caleb’s so _fuckin’ pale -_

_But under it -_

There’s an old scar on Caleb’s throat, just under his ear. It’s not a line of scarred tissue, but a clear, visible imprints of fangs.

It’s a bite mark.

Fjord’s breathing hitches, and his heart trying to figure out how to restart, he gawks at Caleb. He can’t look away. He _can’t._ The world seems to grow darker, but Caleb is in the middle of it, burning bright like a flare.

_It - it’s not - it can’t -_

But it is.

His gut rolls, hot and coiling towards his rib cage, he wants to ask, so desperately, he _wants to ask, but -_

But because Caleb’s in pain, so this ain’t the time for questions like that so Fjord pushes it out of his mind and focuses to help the shaking man from the snow.

Questions can wait. Right now he needs to make sure Caleb’s all right.

+

They keep moving.

Fjord tries to ignore what he’s seen. It doesn’t matter now, they’ve got more pressing issues at hand than _that,_ than Fjord’s feelings.

The closer they get to the camp, he notes how much paler Caleb gets under the hood, his breathing has grown painful, into wet rattle. Worry squeezes Fjord’s throat.

 _Fuck. This isn’t good._  

     “Hey, how’re you doing?” he asks, concerned, observing Caleb’s clammy face and places his hand on Caleb’s shoulder. He nearly winces when he feels the thin bones under the coat’s leather. “Hey.”

With a sigh, Caleb leans into him. It’s such a small thing; he leans into Fjord, adjusts into the curve of Fjord’s side like he knows the very shape of _him._ Fjord’s heart skips a wild beat, but he shrugs it off - he’s more worried about the uneven rhythm of Caleb’s breathing.

 _About goddamn everything about this infuriatingly stubborn wizard -_  

     “C’mon,” Fjord murmurs, nudging him.

Caleb laughs, and it sounds _awful._ “I - I think I am the one who should be saying that.”

     “Ain’t you funny, tellin’ jokes now, awesome. Keep doin’ that. C’mon, can you stand okay? I can carry you - ”

But Caleb doesn’t reply, he just looks up at Fjord, the blue in his eyes feverish and _ill._ “I missed your accents,” he says so very softly. Fjord nearly chokes. “I...forgot, a little. How you pronounced some things. Eldritch _blaaaast._ ”

 _Goddamnit -_ that simple phrase, that sentence hits Fjord like a sledgehammer. But out comes just a helpless:

     “I - you _know?”_

Caleb hums. “We travelled a long time together,” he just says and pulls himself away from Fjord. “It will be all right.”

+

They see the camp.

The fire, the glow of Caleb’s magical dome, fresh and new and untouched, unlike the older version.

Seeing it across the snowy hills, it aches under Fjord’s collarbone. Caleb stops few steps behind him, hesitating. Fjord has a hunch what torments him, so he turns to him and says:

     “You know they’d want to see you.”   

A turmoil of emotions flicker across Caleb’s face, but most prominent one is longing _._ Pure, unadulterated _longing._ There’s no mistake about it.

     “I should not, it - the world does not - “

    “Fuck the world,” Fjord says roughly. “You’ve given enough. You’ve suffered enough, you’ve torn yourself into shreds _enough._ You’re Caleb, ‘n that’s enough for them _and_ for me.”

Another violent, jagged tremor goes through Caleb, blanching the colour of his figure slightly off - gritty and paper-like, before resuming back to normal.

He exhales through his nose, closes his eyes. “ _Ja,_ okay,” he replies weakly. “Gods damn me, okay.”

+

Caleb’s shaking so badly when they approach the camp.

There’s terror, longing, _grief_ reflecting in his gaze, and it’s all so bare and brutal that it’s almost difficult to look back, but he follows Fjord up the hill to the camp.

+

Beau is the first one to notice Fjord. “ _Fjord -_ fuck, what the hell happened, where did you - ?”

She stops.

Everything stops.

It’s deathly quiet.

+

They’re all frozen.

Paralyzed in their own shock, surprise, _horror -_ they stare at Caleb.

Jester’s voice breaks under it all, young and shaky: “Caleb?”

And in that painful mess, there is no doubt, because they all can see him, the same ghost that Fjord has seen, and there is no _doubt about it,_ this is their Caleb, old and weathered and full of burdens that are heavy enough for at least two lifetimes.

They don’t know why or how, but they instinctively know this is their friend, their _family,_ who looks like he’s been through hell and torture.

Caleb’s thin shoulders sag forward, and he offers a weak smile. “ _Hallo_ , Jester.”

Jester stares at Caleb, unmoving, her chest jerking as she starts breathing again.

Caduceus says, his tone almost curious: “He’s real.”

It shakes the silence loose. Jester’s eyes fill with hot tears, and the sound she makes is _anguished._

And then, a split second later, she’s moving, her dress fluttering around her like a floral patterned veil, and she throws herself at him, wrapping her arms around him.

Her cheek presses against his beard as she nuzzles closer.  

     “Oh, Caleb, _Caleb - “_ she whispers, and now she’s crying. “Oh, Caleb, you look so old.”

Caleb laughs, and it’s a wet, almost hysterical sound. “ _Ja,_ I know,” he gasps, and he sounds like his chest is collapsing in on itself. He clings onto her just as desperately, his arms trembling. “I am so sorry.”

     “You’re so old, what happened, you are so _sad,_ Caleb, why are you so sad - “ she gasps back, and they’re just holding each other, and now Fjord can see tears streaming silently down Caleb’s withered face.

There’s relief, such overwhelming relief on his features, happiness and agony reflecting back, and Fjord can’t quite be sure if this is kindness or torture.

Nott barrels into Caleb, climbs onto his shoulders and shaking with quiet, anguished sobs into his hair. She says nothing, because she and Caleb do not need words, even after such a long time. He just reaches up and pats her gently.

Caduceus towers over him. “Mr. Caleb. Nice to see you again,” he says with a silly smile that is a comfort.

     “Mr. Clay,” Caleb replies easily, and they know how long it must have been for him to say that. “You, too. You are a sight for sore eyes, my friend.”

     “Welcome back. Even for a lil’ while, this is a nice visit. Tea?”

Before Caleb can answer, Beau steps besides Jester, and her expression is close to an open nerve. Her jaw is clenching, her throat works as she tries to swallow.

Caleb lets go of Jester to gaze at her, and the way he looks at Beau, with such fondness, so impossibly gently that Beau nearly flinches back.

     “You look so fuckin’ old,” she manages to choke. She’s not crying, but her eyes are raw, welling, and her mouth’s twisted into a painful line. “What the fuck did you do, you stubborn asshole? What the hell _happened_ to you?”

Her voice cracks, hoarse and ragged.

     “Beauregard,” Caleb murmurs and reaches to touch her shoulder, his grip white-knuckled and very familiar. “It is good to see you. I have missed you so very dearly.”

She stares at him, stricken.

Then she grabs him by the coat and pulls him into a rough embrace, holding him like he’s the one drowning. Her shoulders shake.

     “You idiot,” she rasps out, gripping the back of his coat. “You goddamn _idiot.”_

Caleb rests his head against hers. “I know. I am so sorry,” he whispers. “You were never supposed to see me.”

Beau heaves out a dry sort of laugh. “You fuckin’ did it anyway. ‘Course you did. Should fuckin’ clock you one, just for - man, you look so _awful.”_ She stares at him in despair. She raises her hand up toward him, hesitating and finally, she gives into it and runs her finger on the lines on Caleb’s face. With each wrinkle, her expression grows more agonized. “Fuck, you must’ve been through hell...”

     “It will be better now,” Caleb murmurs. “Do not worry.”

     “Fuck yeah I’m gonna worry, you think you can just show up here lookin’ like that and we’re not gonna worry about your ass?” Beau draws another uneven breath inside, holding herself tight and stiff as if she’s on the brink of losing her self-control. “Shit, you - you - what can I do? What can we do? C’mon, man - “

Caleb tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

     “I am sorry that there isn’t enough time,” he says brokenly. “I am so sorry. You deserve better than what life threw at you. All of you. You are the best of people I have ever known. You are brave and insane and absolutely wonderful. I love you. So very much. And I thank you.”

His voice shatters, but he pushes forward, his eyes azure bright and steady. “Live brightly, my friends. I am honoured to have known you.”

Fjord’s reeling.

His chest feels like cracking open, he can’t breathe, the world is distorted around the edges, and he’s plagued by this _agony,_ this inevitable feeling of impending loss and grief, and _it’s going to happen, Caleb’s gonna - !_

_\- this is Caleb, no matter how old, no matter how much he’s seen, he’s still their wizard -_

     “We love you,” he says, because he has to, even if it’s the last thing this old Caleb Widogast hears, he has to say it because it’s the truth.

Caleb smiles then, a real, shining smile that’s serene and _happy._

“Sappy,” he teases gently with a hitch of laughter. “I love you as well.”

He grins, and it’s so soft, so affectionate and in that moment, Fjord sees it. Caleb in love, Caleb enjoying all the joy in the world, free as he can be. Loving someone and being loved in return.

_Years, years younger._

Caleb lets go of Beauregard then, and she eases her grip reluctantly as Caleb shifts closer to Fjord, angling his head to gaze up at him. This really is a good bye, Fjord realizes. _This is a goodbye, and he isn’t ready for it._

     “Fjord,” Caleb says softly. _Fee-yord._ He brushes his thumb on Fjord’s cheek, and with that, Fjord realizes his face is wet with tears. “Oh, _Schatz._ Be happy. _Ja?_ Okay? It might be different this time around, but... please be happy.” 

Gritting his molars together, Fjord closes his eyes, leans into the gentle touch and covers Caleb’s hand with his own.

     “Fuck that, I still want that, never mind different or not,” he whispers, his voice low and mangled. He figures he has nothing to lose right now, if this is the last time, he might as well be honest. “Want you to be happy, s’all I care about.”

     “And I am now,” Caleb replies smiling. “It is bittersweet, yes, but I am glad this happened, now at the end.” His eyes soften, bright and clear.

     “Did I - did I marry you?” Fjord asks, desperate now that the time is truly running out.  “Your bitemark - did I - ?”  

Caleb hums, his smile turning sweet and a bit teasing, and in a flash, he’s a young man again, all that age and agony melting into the memory that is the Caleb in Fjord’s life.

     “You were very nervous about it, _ja.”_

Fjord feels like his whole world turns to the side.

     “Were you happy with me?” he asks, nearly wheezing, moving to hold Caleb’s wrist. His thumb presses against the flutter of Caleb’s pulse. “Did I make you happy?”

     “You did,” Caleb replies calmly, gently. “It was the happiest time in my life. Thank you for that.”

     “I married you, and an hour ago, I had no fuckin’ idea who you were, and you _knew,_ and you met _me_ \- “

     “Timelines are not kind, neither is this world when the souls are concerned, but all is _gut_ now, Fjord. It will be all right.”

Caleb’s hand, old and worn, settles on Fjord’s chest.

His fingers draw a symbol on Fjord’s sternum, the Power glows red-hot and bright before extinguishing into embers. A drowsy warm sensation nestles behind Fjord’s ribs.

_(safe)_

      “I bargained and negotiated and I gladly paid the price for it, so you have a _chance_ now,” Caleb whispers. “With this world’s blessings, you will live.”

Fjord makes a low, pained noise in the back of his throat. This is happening. He can’t say farewell, not to Caleb, not in this moment, _not like it’s final._

      “See you later, Widogast,” he breathes out.

Caleb’s smile is far from heartbreaking. “Goodbye,” he murmurs. “I am sorry. I love you all.”  

And with that, he pulls his hand back, glances to the side where the younger Caleb is lying, in his bedroll, sick and in restless fever sleep, and -

\- the old Caleb signs the arcane word ‘ _Forget’._

_( i am sorry )_

They blink, startled.

Caleb’s frame fades, twists and distorts, the outline of his body shimmers green-golden. He smiles, one last time before he fades out completely into small stars.

And they forget.

Because this world doesn’t tolerate time travel and breaking the fabric of reality, It decides removing memories is the best course of action to keep the balance.

So It helps.

Because even though Caleb Widogast has no gods, no deities, that doesn’t mean no one heard his pleas. 

So It lets the old soul do this impossible magic, allows to push it even further - one last act of kindness to his family.

The Mighty Nein forgets the old, old Caleb Widogast, but even they can’t suddenly explain why they are crying, why there is empty ache inside their chests, a wound that is of _grief_.

+

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY holy shit, this was so self-indulgent and I'm not sorry. Also known the chapter where I take artistic liberties.  
> I really wondered whether or not he should do the thing, but I decided to do it, because Caleb and Fjord needed to make their own choices without the whole timeline-thing affecting them. So...um, there will be one more chapter left. Thank you very much for reading and for being so amazingly sweet. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, pls tell me if you find some grammar mistakes or if I use words or idioms wrong or stuff like that, I'm not a native speaker - finnish, baby! - and I want to improve!!   
> Thank you very much for reading <3


End file.
